


Even Demons get Sick

by Dreadful Weather Today (TearoomSaloon)



Series: Trinkets [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, F/M, Fluff, sick, this is the last fluff I'm doing for a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/Dreadful%20Weather%20Today
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looked ridiculous. He acted ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad of a sinus infection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Demons get Sick

 

            He looked a bit ridiculous, hidden under a sea of blankets, pillows tossed about and tissues covering every scrap of floor within a two-foot radius. His face was pale, hair mussed, eyes rimmed red, and whole body clammy. The humanity in his face startled her, and she had to remind herself that he was, in fact, human in body, mind, and soul, regardless of his monstrosity.

            “How are you feeling?”

            He glared at her, or tried, his cheeks too puffy and swollen to be intimidating. “Horrible.”

            “Have you seen a doctor?”

            “Yes. Sinus infection. I’m on medication.”

            Ah, she remembered those. They had plagued her childhood, but she didn’t recall them being bed-sentencing. “How long?”

            “Two days, maybe three. Past the point of contagion.”

            “Fever?”

            “Not improving.”

            She clicked her tongue, pitying his state. “Do you want me to make you soup?”

            His eyes went wide. “No, that’s—”

            “Hannibal, I know what’s in your kitchen, and first off, I have _no_ idea how to prepare people. It’d be vegetable soup or chicken noodle.”

            “I’m fine,” he sighed, slinking under the covers. “I just want to sleep.”

            “Why did you call me over?”

            “I want company.”

            “But you want to sleep.”

            “I want sleep _and_ company, Alana.” He moved to one side of the bed, making room for her.

            “Are we really going to do this?” she muttered under her breath, pulling off her shoes.

            “Get a book too, the Chaucer on the desk, right beside the lamp.”

            “Am I going to read to you?”

            “That’s what I intended, yes.”

            She struggled with the covers, sliding in beside him. “You’re so cute sometimes I forget you’re really dark under that mask.”

            He laid his head on her lap, content. “Illness removes the mask.”

            “So you mean to say real Hannibal is a pushover, and mask Hannibal is a serial killer?”

            “Close. I’m feeling a bit mentally out of sorts today.” He took her free hand and guided it to his head. “You can start wherever you’d like.”

            She read to him. She read chapter upon chapter to him until _she_ was falling asleep. Her eyelids grew _so_ heavy, her neck unable to support her head a moment longer. She set the book down and turned off the light, resituating herself on the bed. He had rolled off her lap hours ago, and she could easily tuck her arms around his neck and fall asleep.

            And she did.


End file.
